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Late on the evening of Feb. 29, when Davy Jones’ sudden death at age 66 was still registering, I dragged my old acoustic guitar out of the closet and began strumming and singing “Daydream Believer,” his biggest hit with The Monkees.

It felt sad, but also good. It was a song I used to play long ago in another life, when I was a TTC subway busker. “Daydream Believer” used to bring the most smiles and spare change.

I was an early, brief but intense fan of The Monkees, whom detractors quickly nicknamed the “pre-Fab Four,” since at first they didn’t write their own songs and barely played any instruments.

They were Beatles wannabes created entirely for television. That didn’t bother me at the uncritical age of 10, when The Monkees debuted on TV in September 1966. I adored the show’s improv comedy, rare for the time, and liked the music. I still know all the words to the theme tune (“Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees / And people say we monkey around . . .”).

Most of all, I was fascinated by Jones. He was the odd man out of the group: the shortest one, the only one from England and the one with a stage background (he’d played the Artful Dodger in Oliver! on Broadway and in London’s West End).

He was also “the cute one,” possessing a shy smile and way of looking at girls that seemed to have a magical power over them. Most episodes of The Monkees featured Jones falling for some young hottie, who would return the swoon. Their eyes would meet over a crowded dance floor and there would be the diamond glint of love at first sight.

For a skinny and awkward 10-year-old, this was some kind of sorcery. It was also extremely silly, but Davy Jones made love seem like the most powerful force on Earth.

And he was right. It’s there in “Daydream Believer”: “Now you know how happy I can be.”

It’s a happy song, yet also a little wistful. Kind of like my memories of Davy Jones, who kept singing, smiling and loving right until the end.

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